


Hymns Upon Your Lips

by singingtomysoul



Category: Arrested Development
Genre: First Date, First Kiss, GOB and Tony are bad at feelings, M/M, Vignettes, multiple POVs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-30
Updated: 2013-08-30
Packaged: 2017-12-25 02:58:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/947805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/singingtomysoul/pseuds/singingtomysoul
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>GOB and Tony's first date, second date, first kiss, first time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hymns Upon Your Lips

That first night, they don't kiss. They aren't afraid to touch in other ways, elbowing each other and grinning playfully as they dip into lemon meringue, enjoying the pleasant warmth and weight of another body as the bull throws them into the air and they land in a pile of cards and feathers. They coast on something heady and unnameable, something even Tony with his expanded vocabulary isn't able to put to words. As he meticulously paints the gilt edge on an ashtray re-purposed to a candy dish - 'I've been trying to quit,' he lies - GOB looks up suddenly and asks him, "what am I feeling right now?" 

"I don't know," Tony responds, tongue poking at the back of his teeth in concentration. "What?"

"It's like. If I were running really fast but I never had to catch my breath, I was just breathing heavy because I knew if I went a little faster I'd take off in the air and never come back down. And I should be freaking out because I don't know how to fly, I don't have wings and how do you even steer? But I'm not. I just want to never be standing still again."

"I don't know, you're...happy?"

"I've been happy. It feels bigger."

Two things stand out to Tony Wonder. The first is that he's listened to every word of that, and hasn't tuned GOB out once. The second is that even though it doesn't make a bit of sense, Tony understands what he means.

His mouth forms around an s, an a, but he doesn't say it. Not yet. 

\---

The second night, they refuse to touch. They're separated by counter-tops and couch cushions, by glasses of wine and mutual deceits that never amount to much and are barely even remembered. But those plans still hang there, like the awkward silence between gulps of water, and whenever GOB shifts his weight he feels cheap rubber pressed into his thigh. He wonders - Wonders - if the mask will leave an indent in his skin.

A few days ago, he was running fast enough to fly. Now he's flying, he's sure he is, because it's like when he first bought his Segway - he tried to lean and pivot and balance the damn thing a dozen times, nearly broke it. Until Michael snapped "it's not like riding a bike, it's meant to carry you, just TRUST it," so he stopped trying and let it work. And a million little machines went click-click-click into place, and he was moving without even thinking. It was another part of his body, and he felt unique in all the world.

He says 'I have feelings for you,' and Tony says 'I have feelings for you,' and they know the time and date and place they're going to see each other naked. And GOB's got what he came for, he thinks, whatever it was. He should be out the door. Except he doesn't want tonight to end maybe for the rest of his entire life.

"What was I talking about?" Tony asks, and GOB immediately reminds him. He's been listening to every word. And a million little neurons or cells or whatever go click-click-click into place, and GOB is a magic fireball, he's a shooting star. He's a man sitting on a couch telling the truth for the first time, and he's got wings.

\---

It's three am when they say good night. And maybe it's remembering the real world that makes it happen, that GOB remembers there's a place outside of this apartment and this couch and this person who is looking right at him. Because Tony seems poised for an awkward shuffle-hug-handshake, maybe a brush of lips to cheek, 'I'd love to make out but I just drank a lot of-'

GOB launches himself at Tony, wraps long limbs around him and hugs tight. He smells smoke and latex and wine, feels warm lean muscle in that compact frame. Tony is smooth like a woman but he isn't soft. Nothing soft. Only weathered and warm and same, and GOB never wants to feel empty space again.

Something in Tony's face freezes wide-eyed, deer-in-headlights, like his first response is always panic. But the startled only lasts a second, and so does the bemused half-smirk. GOB keeps holding on to him as that face softens and smooths, settles into something fond. 

Tony's fingers hesitate, pull back, then reach out again before he can change his mind. They curl in GOB's hair as they tug him forward, down, and his lips are chapstick-soft against GOB's cheek, lingering right at the corner of his mouth - 

\- and then, impulsive and brave, they realign.

And the roar in their ears is like applause, like the rush they only get by feeding off of that energy, by knowing that they have the crowd and the crowd belongs to them. Something they've done a thousand times and it's never the same twice, and this, this is different than every time before, a fixed point in time with no deliberation and no fear. 

They separate, reluctantly, and Tony's eyes are gleaming. "I didn't expect-"

"Same," GOB gushes. "But I wanted-"

"Same. I'm-" There's something Tony wants to ask him, but he doesn't dare. He hunts for words that are less dangerous. "Cinco? I'll see you Cinco?"

"Can I see you before then?" GOB asks, and there's such a nervous edge to it Tony feels thrilled and ashamed all at once.

"We - yeah. Yes. Of course. I'll call you -"

When GOB drives off, it's a moment before they both can remember how to live in their own bodies. For GOB it's a flash of shame, of terror he pretends is rage. 

Tony thinks of the man he's holding in the palm of his hand, and how he never wants to let go.

\---

GOB feels his stomach twist up into his chest as the latex crumples onto the floor.

Tony is mask-less and naked, and his whole body is taut. GOB would look at him, drink him in, but the air is tense enough to slice them so all he can see is the way Tony is holding his hands out, like: 'well.'

Like, 'there it is.'

"Should I," GOB whispers, and he doesn't know what comes after that, and he tries again. "Should I. Should. I should. Should-"

"I sort of hoped it would be you," Tony says, and his voice is shaking a little, which it never does, never ever.

"Should I. Should the guy - should you -"

"It's okay," Tony tells him, because that's what you do to say things can be repaired, can be fixed to a shape you recognize.

"Tony," he says, all cracked open and spilling, like confiding in a best friend. "What if I'm gay?"

The silence goes on a long time, fifteen seconds, thirty. Tony counts them, all the seconds where there are no illusions to weave, and yet miraculously they both stay put.

"What am I feeling right now?" Tony asks.

"What?"

"Everything's grey. And brown. It's like, it's this fog, and it's on my skin and in my hair, and I'm just tense and I'm tired, all the time. I'm tired of lying. I'm tired of pushing. And there's two whole things that aren't like that, there's when I perform and - then there's you."

GOB wets his lips nervously, eyes darting upward to meet his. "Tony."

"What am I feeling, GOB?"

GOB doesn't know. So he moves in to kiss him, again and again, until the feelings don't need words anymore.


End file.
